Tag Archives: mom

fantastic piece of shit

I am a fantastic piece of shit
about to hurl myself 2,500 miles
down a snowy road
accompanied only by
one engine
and one heartbeat, dog

this morning was a morning
just like any other before it
except
this was the particular morning
you finally pissed me off

fuck it

now you can have the
fire-breathing witch bitch
I’ve always known
was in there

I’m finally used to
that hot feeling in my chest
so I’m going to do what I want

and you
are rolling
like water
off my back

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I like the naturopath.

Little ice-melt pebbles crunch under our boots as we trace her daily path through the hospital doors. There’s a little “cover your cough” stand with sanitizer and paper masks. She takes a mask and stretches it over her head, two boney manicured hands, ring finger diamonds sparkling. The taunt white elastic band presses onto the delicate skin of the scar on her neck. We pass a gorgeous photograph of a bear cub playing with a moose antler on a river bank, a white porcelain Mary, and a chapel. The chapel intrigues me. The chapel bothers me, as if to say, you’re going to need to start praying.

We sit down with the naturopath in his office. He is a handsome Jewish man who looks you directly in the eyes when he speaks. My first impression was that he was too hurried. She mentions a GI tube consult she’s going to later. He explains the ridges of the GI system, what chemo/radiation can do to it, and why it’s better to eat orally rather than through a feeding tube. Use it or loose it. Out the huge windows of his office is a wide view of scratchy black trees clinging to the white sky and fogged mountains. I wonder what makes things grow upward, what the trees reach for, what is beyond. It’s a good distraction from listening to my mother talk about loosing her sense of taste, hair and will to eat. He tells me to feed her lots of  Indian food, tumeric. He turns to her, “Do you like the taste of ginger?” He asks her about her skin, explains melatonin with drawings on scrap paper. She shows him all of the new freckles showing up on her neck and face. I think it’s the cutest fucking thing ever and it makes me want to jump out of my seat and hug her. I think about tattooing them on me. I think about the matching freckle we’ve always had on our left hands just below the thumb.

As the naturopath wraps up the appointment he tells me to start stealing Queezy Pops for her from the radiation desk. I decide I like him.


a love poem

I stand in the natural food section looking at chocolate. I don’t really know anything about chocolate, but I’m trying to find something made from cocoa that isn’t oppressing someone somewhere. But that’s not even what I care about. Just a thought to distract me from why I am buying chocolate  at all. The one with the raspberries says it has a “love poem” inside and I decide that it’s appropriate. “Give it to someone you love..” it says.

I woke up this morning and it wasn’t a dream that faded like it should have been. My head hurt, dehydrated I suppose.

My aunt says cats are supposed know where people’s tumors are. Mom says Buddhi’s been sleeping on her neck.

I brought her what I thought could help. A big round seed and a pine cone from my house in the Brooklyn neighborhood. A feather and a bit of iridescent shell from the beach, sage Jodie gathered when she was in the desert. She said I could smudge her and I thought that was cute. I fought back tears as she held the sage to her nose. 

I told her not to start treatment over christmas. Wait a week I said, it’s just one week.

We have the same hands. Her soft perfect warm neck. I don’t want to have to wonder how much more time I have with her. I don’t want them to put that toxic shit in her blood. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Kevin got me a travel coffee mug from the thrift store and Emiline has been feeding and watching movies with me.

I’ve had this headache for three days straight. I guess I haven’t been drinking enough water to replace what I’ve been crying out. No matter where my mind circles and races, it comes to the same conclusion. And I am angry and helpless.

Lindsey stood beside me sitting at the kitchen table. Smashed my face into her new puffy jacket with Pepper in her other arm. Her boney hip and belt buckle dug into my shoulder as I sobbed. She said she felt nauseous.

I saw Jodie walking down Spenard in a skirt and no gloves, carrying her sewing machine. I stopped to see if she needed a ride, but the sew ‘n vac was only a block away. She took me into her arms like she always does. I looked into her loving eyes but I couldn’t tell her.

It snowed lastnight. Soft and quiet. It’s snowed so infrequently this winter that each time feels like the first time.